Warm
by Isefyr
Summary: As the year progresses, Hermione finds that Draco is deliciously warm. M due to alluded-to adult situations, but nothing explicit.


**Five Times**

i.

The hands on the small of her back are warm, pressing her against the bookshelves. Hermione can feel the spines of the books pressing into her front, and it should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. She's too focused on the warmth on her lower spine, the breath on her neck.

"Better be careful there, Granger," comes the voice from behind her. "There's only one of you."

Hermione steadies herself on the stepladder and turns, but the hands follow her, trailing around to her stomach until she faces the source of the warmth. Then, reluctantly, they withdraw.

"Malfoy?" she asks, uncertain, because it didn't sound at all like he was mocking her.

He gives her an uncertain smile, helps her off the steps, and walks away.

"Thank you," she murmurs, wondering when he became so warm.

ii.

The arms that are wrapped around her are warm, so much so that Hermione wants to melt into them, to curl up and sleep. Her head is tucked into the crook of a neck that smells like pine and ice and petrichor, and she takes a deep, steadying breath to make sure that this moment is real.

"Granger," says Malfoy's voice, amused, "Don't fall asleep on me, alright?"

Hermione looks up at him, witty retort on her tongue, but the eyes that look down at her are soft and warm, and the arms around her are solid and safe, and she doesn't want him to let go. Strange, that.

"Draco," she says firmly, "What would you do if I did?"

The smile that blossoms on his face is – just that – warm.

"Why, I'd have to carry you to bed," he says, and she doesn't think she imagines the heat in his tone.

iii.

The lips that are pressed to hers are warm, and Hermione is momentarily shocked by the fact that someone who smells of ice _tastes_ like chocolate and roaring flames. She is so shocked that she doesn't respond, for an instant, but when the warmth moves away she recovers and kisses back, searching for another taste.

"Hermione," Draco whispers, and then takes in a sharp gasp of air as she captures his mouth once more, nipping gently at his bottom lip. He laughs, low in his throat, and lifts his hand to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair.

Hermione's eyes are half-lidded and her face is flushed red, and all she can think of is searching for more of that warmth. She looks up at Draco, panting, hair in disarray, not noticing the cold of the stone at her back or the flapping of the tapestry at his. All she can see is the faint glow of his hair and kiss-swollen lips, and she wants _more_.

She doesn't say anything, just smiles, and this time the heat is obvious in his eyes, and very obvious in the way that he tilts her head back and leaves warm kisses up and down her throat.

iv.

The body wrapped around hers is warm, and Hermione doesn't know where she ends and Draco begins, but she knows that his lips-tongue-neck-chest-arms are radiating heat, and she knows that she's being remade, melted down and forged into something shiny and new.

"You're mine," Draco whispers, marking her skin with warm nips which will leave red-purple bruises that Hermione swears stay warm for hours, days after. "All mine."

Hermione's hands dance up and down Draco's body, mapping out lines of fire under his skin, and she enjoys the jolt of warmth that his hitched breath and quiet gasps ignite inside her. She basks in it, and as the heat is raised to scorching temperatures, as they move, she can't remember ever feeling this complete.

"Draco," she gasps, arching into him, searching for warmth, and then relaxes as everything is still and he lies flush with her, her own personal Malfoy blanket.

Hermione can't remember where her jumper went, or the rest of her clothes for that matter, but she isn't cold- indeed, she's absolutely, completely warm.

v.

Even his eyes, Draco's eyes, are warm. Hermione thinks she treasures this the most, even more than his hands, or his body. They're warm across the Great Hall in the morning, in Ancient Runes in the afternoon, and scorching when they're alone. They're twin suns in her clear, clear sky, and this is the warmth Hermione treasures beyond anything else.

"Do you think," Draco says, capturing her gaze once more, "That we have something…?"

Hermione looks at him past the sudden burst of delighted warmth in her chest and smiles, softly, warm.

"I think we have everything," she says softly, "And I hope it lasts."

Draco's eyes are twin supernovas, forges, flames – they are breathtaking, as if something has been ignited inside him. He doesn't try a grand gesture, just presses a kiss to her cheek, and it's oh, so warm.

"It will," he says with certainty, and there are stars in his smile.

…

 **A/N**

 **I really tried to turn this into angst, I swear. I was going to. But I couldn't do it.**

 **So have some fluff instead!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-Isefyr**


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